Oh, What A Beautiful Morning!
.
I tell ya, there are mornings - there are beautiful mornings - and then there is *this* morning.
I should put it in perspective. Last night I went to bed later than I'd hoped to. I had trouble falling asleep because my foot hurt that much, and it was too late at night to take even half a pain pill.
And yet,I slept soundly and awoke refreshed. I woke early too. None of the cats ran under my feet and tripped me. My teenage son got out of bed on time. The Levis 501's I bought before he was born fit me as comfortably as sweat pants this morning. No part of them was tight -not even across my hips. We had fog hovering above the river, and it smelled like fog instead of pollution. No birds had pooped on my windshield overnight. Traffic didn't get in my way. The stoplights were all green as I passed under them. L was early to school. I had time to pick up breakfast for the hubby man; and he was getting out of bed as I came in the door. AND we're probably going to get thunderstorms later today.
Yep. A perfect morning.
Showing posts with label Life In America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life In America. Show all posts
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Sometimes There's Ugliness
.
This morning I dashed into 7-11 to get some breakfast and lunch money for L. Ahead of me was a petite young woman in incredibly tight jeans. She was walking quickly, in a stilted, jerky kind of way. I wondered what her disability was, decided it was probably arthritis, and pondered the hardship of arthritis for such a young woman.
Although she appeared to be in a great hurry, she took the time to hold the door open for me. She ducked her head as I thanked her. I thought, "That girl needs more confidence". And went to get my breakfast -which took about 40 seconds.
At the register, the woman was ahead of me again. She was trying to fish money out of her front pocket, using her finger as a hook to wiggle the change and bills out. Her sole purchase was a $1.50 can of beer.
I noticed she had dropped a nickle so I bent to pick it up for her. As I was stooped, I saw a quarter and some pennies too. So I picked it all up and set it on the counter for her. She thanked me, and I saw her face for the first time. She looked at least as old as me; and she had a perfectly rectangular bruise blossoming over the bridge of her nose.
The little things I'd observed suddenly became huge. The discolorations on her arms weren't hives or bad skin, they were layers of bruises. Her fingers were swollen. There were old marks on her throat and collarbone.
I suddenly wanted to ask her if the beer was for her, or for the person who had mashed her face? And I realized that I wasn't willing to take her into my home and shelter her - because I didn't want the drama of driving her beater off my property.
And I felt like crap.
I have no idea why I wanted to help and protect a total stranger. Maybe because, at that moment, she would have let me? I don't know.
And I had a moment of clarity. Second Life is attractive to so many people because bruises don't show.
.
This morning I dashed into 7-11 to get some breakfast and lunch money for L. Ahead of me was a petite young woman in incredibly tight jeans. She was walking quickly, in a stilted, jerky kind of way. I wondered what her disability was, decided it was probably arthritis, and pondered the hardship of arthritis for such a young woman.
Although she appeared to be in a great hurry, she took the time to hold the door open for me. She ducked her head as I thanked her. I thought, "That girl needs more confidence". And went to get my breakfast -which took about 40 seconds.
At the register, the woman was ahead of me again. She was trying to fish money out of her front pocket, using her finger as a hook to wiggle the change and bills out. Her sole purchase was a $1.50 can of beer.
I noticed she had dropped a nickle so I bent to pick it up for her. As I was stooped, I saw a quarter and some pennies too. So I picked it all up and set it on the counter for her. She thanked me, and I saw her face for the first time. She looked at least as old as me; and she had a perfectly rectangular bruise blossoming over the bridge of her nose.
The little things I'd observed suddenly became huge. The discolorations on her arms weren't hives or bad skin, they were layers of bruises. Her fingers were swollen. There were old marks on her throat and collarbone.
I suddenly wanted to ask her if the beer was for her, or for the person who had mashed her face? And I realized that I wasn't willing to take her into my home and shelter her - because I didn't want the drama of driving her beater off my property.
And I felt like crap.
I have no idea why I wanted to help and protect a total stranger. Maybe because, at that moment, she would have let me? I don't know.
And I had a moment of clarity. Second Life is attractive to so many people because bruises don't show.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Jury Duty
.
Heh, heh, heh. Dooty.
Um, right. So I've been called upon to fulfill my civic duty (heh, dooty.) and sit in a courtroom with a bunch of other people while lawyers ask a lot of personal questions. The purpose is to find a sub-group of people who could give the defendant a fair trial. The personal questions include ones like this: "Have you, or anyone close to you been a victim of a sex crime? When? What are the specifics? Was any legal action taken? Would any incident from your past prevent you from following the instructions of the Judge and giving a verdict of guilty or not guilty based solely on the evidence presented?"
This gives lots of opportunity for people to stand up and tell their sad stories of victimization. Whenever somebody did that, I stuck my nose in a book. Should I be chosen to sit and judge a fellow citizen, I do not want my decision colored by the stories of others. Along those lines, when I stood up to tell my own story - "I was molested by my uncle when I was 3; I was raped when I was 15, and there was some other stuff along those lines in between... But that would have no bearing on my verdict, which I would base on evidence presented, rather than my own past."
I could feel the heat of 50+ pairs of eyes, and I was a little embarrassed. I have not been embarrassed about the things that happened to me... um, ever. Shit happens. And none of my shit has anything to do with anyone else in the courtroom. They have their own shit. It's their shit I'd be listening to.
.
Heh, heh, heh. Dooty.
Um, right. So I've been called upon to fulfill my civic duty (heh, dooty.) and sit in a courtroom with a bunch of other people while lawyers ask a lot of personal questions. The purpose is to find a sub-group of people who could give the defendant a fair trial. The personal questions include ones like this: "Have you, or anyone close to you been a victim of a sex crime? When? What are the specifics? Was any legal action taken? Would any incident from your past prevent you from following the instructions of the Judge and giving a verdict of guilty or not guilty based solely on the evidence presented?"
This gives lots of opportunity for people to stand up and tell their sad stories of victimization. Whenever somebody did that, I stuck my nose in a book. Should I be chosen to sit and judge a fellow citizen, I do not want my decision colored by the stories of others. Along those lines, when I stood up to tell my own story - "I was molested by my uncle when I was 3; I was raped when I was 15, and there was some other stuff along those lines in between... But that would have no bearing on my verdict, which I would base on evidence presented, rather than my own past."
I could feel the heat of 50+ pairs of eyes, and I was a little embarrassed. I have not been embarrassed about the things that happened to me... um, ever. Shit happens. And none of my shit has anything to do with anyone else in the courtroom. They have their own shit. It's their shit I'd be listening to.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Sun, Sales and Surprises
.
Once a year my sister's neighborhood holds a massive yard sale. To quote KDHX:
"BELLERIVE DAY IS HERE!!! Each year families on Bellerive and Dover Place hold the "mother of all garage sales" and Saturday, September 16 is it. Over 50 homes with sales, rummage sale, breakfast and BBQ lunch at the Methodist Church on the corner of Bellerive and Colorado, arts and crafts and more. Drive south on Grand and you can't miss it." (edited to remove contact info)
This year, I brought a few things from my house to (hopefully) sell. I didn't sell everything; but I did get rid of 3 skeins of yarn I'd taken a disliking to, a toddler table, a silver ring and a really nice equalizer.
I bought: A neat gold and red knitting bag ($2), A cup of lemonade (50 cents), and a wooden bumper pool table with all the accessories plus a cover that's plain table on one side and poker table on the other side ($25)
It would cost more than $100 to have our current poker table felted. This table has leather instead of felt. Woo! And it will fit right where the toddler table used to be. The table is the surprise.
It's not so surprising that I got a little sunburn. :)
.
Once a year my sister's neighborhood holds a massive yard sale. To quote KDHX:
"BELLERIVE DAY IS HERE!!! Each year families on Bellerive and Dover Place hold the "mother of all garage sales" and Saturday, September 16 is it. Over 50 homes with sales, rummage sale, breakfast and BBQ lunch at the Methodist Church on the corner of Bellerive and Colorado, arts and crafts and more. Drive south on Grand and you can't miss it." (edited to remove contact info)
This year, I brought a few things from my house to (hopefully) sell. I didn't sell everything; but I did get rid of 3 skeins of yarn I'd taken a disliking to, a toddler table, a silver ring and a really nice equalizer.
I bought: A neat gold and red knitting bag ($2), A cup of lemonade (50 cents), and a wooden bumper pool table with all the accessories plus a cover that's plain table on one side and poker table on the other side ($25)
It would cost more than $100 to have our current poker table felted. This table has leather instead of felt. Woo! And it will fit right where the toddler table used to be. The table is the surprise.
It's not so surprising that I got a little sunburn. :)
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Lessons Learned
.
So, if you're going out to buy coffee creamer before the big storm hits; and you turn on the radio to hear that there is a TORNADO WARNING; and the DJ keeps repeating there is a TORNADO WARNING, not a tornado watch; and there are multiple tornadoes on Doppler radar... Do not blithely continue toward your shopping destination. And above all, do not call your husband on your cell phone to say, "This is so cool! The sky is green! Really green, like bluegrass!
I'm just sayin'.
Because I did that. And when I got to the QT at the corner of Loughborough and Gravois, their registers were down.
This happens. Usually the register comes back online in a minute or two, so I grab my creamer and 2 different kinds of Pepsi and get in line.
Then the tornado sirens went off.
A third of the customers set down their stuff and ran out of the store. "Good," I thought, "less waiting for me." I stood in line while the manager on duty and a co-worker had a quiet conversation about the unworking registers. I glanced casually around, picking the best place in the store to hunker down if debris started flying around outside.
The door would open as if people were pushing their way in, but no one was there. It was the wind.
I wondered if I was about to live through something interesting.
I pulled out my cell phone to tell my hubby that I was safe, that I had chosen a shelter, and that I would be home after the worst had passed. The phone was fully charged, and I had a great signal. But I couldn't get through. All lines were busy.
I tried again. And a third time. Then I gave up.
The sirens wound down and I had a pair of thoughts run through my head. The sodas in my arms would get warm if I had to wait out a tornado, and it would be easier to herd the crowd at the register if my arms were empty.
(In hindsight, I have no idea why I thought it was my responsibility to keep these strangers safe. Nor do I know why I thought I had the power to do so. But at the time, my concern was getting rid of the drinks and being ready to take over and direct these people to safety.)
So I walked to the dairy cooler, wondering casually if I had enough time. There was an employee stocking the beer cooler as if tornado sirens hadn't been screaming at the sky mere seconds before. Weird.
I put away my creamer, then returned the sodas to their respective coolers, and headed back toward the register. Nothing to do now but wait...
Or not.
The manager on duty decided that the registers were not coming back online, and I think the crowd frightened her a bit because she declared, "Ok! I need everyone out of my store!"
As if it were the signal they were waiting for, everyone placed their items on the counter and left the store. I stood there with my mouth hanging open as people obediently went out into the storm and possible tornado. I couldn't believe she was sending her customers into potential danger.
I was outraged. I couldn't help myself. I declared in utter disbelief:
"I can't believe there's nowhere in this store to take shelter."
I clamped my mouth shut over the second part: "What is wrong with you?"
I tried the cell phone again in the truck. No dice.
So I drove to Hollywood Video and bought some soda for my family, then went home.
I opened the back door, declared "I'm safe!" and went straight into the basement where I found my family watching the weather. Lo and behold, there on the radar was a rotating tornadic cell. Just east of our home. It was one of 7 or 8 cells on the screen.
When those sirens were going off, there really was a tornado rotation over my head. It just never touched down.
Now, I have to throw in an interesting thing about my city news people. When tornadoes hit, the weather guys rush out to be right at the scene of disaster. And after the storm began to fall apart, reports of the destruction started coming in.
According to one meteorologist, some neighborhood had put their trash out before the storm hit. It wasn't a trailer park, but Mother Nature couldn't resist. Yes, a little baby tornado touched down and ripped open bags of trash all down the street. *giggle*
.
So, if you're going out to buy coffee creamer before the big storm hits; and you turn on the radio to hear that there is a TORNADO WARNING; and the DJ keeps repeating there is a TORNADO WARNING, not a tornado watch; and there are multiple tornadoes on Doppler radar... Do not blithely continue toward your shopping destination. And above all, do not call your husband on your cell phone to say, "This is so cool! The sky is green! Really green, like bluegrass!
I'm just sayin'.
Because I did that. And when I got to the QT at the corner of Loughborough and Gravois, their registers were down.
This happens. Usually the register comes back online in a minute or two, so I grab my creamer and 2 different kinds of Pepsi and get in line.
Then the tornado sirens went off.
A third of the customers set down their stuff and ran out of the store. "Good," I thought, "less waiting for me." I stood in line while the manager on duty and a co-worker had a quiet conversation about the unworking registers. I glanced casually around, picking the best place in the store to hunker down if debris started flying around outside.
The door would open as if people were pushing their way in, but no one was there. It was the wind.
I wondered if I was about to live through something interesting.
I pulled out my cell phone to tell my hubby that I was safe, that I had chosen a shelter, and that I would be home after the worst had passed. The phone was fully charged, and I had a great signal. But I couldn't get through. All lines were busy.
I tried again. And a third time. Then I gave up.
The sirens wound down and I had a pair of thoughts run through my head. The sodas in my arms would get warm if I had to wait out a tornado, and it would be easier to herd the crowd at the register if my arms were empty.
(In hindsight, I have no idea why I thought it was my responsibility to keep these strangers safe. Nor do I know why I thought I had the power to do so. But at the time, my concern was getting rid of the drinks and being ready to take over and direct these people to safety.)
So I walked to the dairy cooler, wondering casually if I had enough time. There was an employee stocking the beer cooler as if tornado sirens hadn't been screaming at the sky mere seconds before. Weird.
I put away my creamer, then returned the sodas to their respective coolers, and headed back toward the register. Nothing to do now but wait...
Or not.
The manager on duty decided that the registers were not coming back online, and I think the crowd frightened her a bit because she declared, "Ok! I need everyone out of my store!"
As if it were the signal they were waiting for, everyone placed their items on the counter and left the store. I stood there with my mouth hanging open as people obediently went out into the storm and possible tornado. I couldn't believe she was sending her customers into potential danger.
I was outraged. I couldn't help myself. I declared in utter disbelief:
"I can't believe there's nowhere in this store to take shelter."
I clamped my mouth shut over the second part: "What is wrong with you?"
I tried the cell phone again in the truck. No dice.
So I drove to Hollywood Video and bought some soda for my family, then went home.
I opened the back door, declared "I'm safe!" and went straight into the basement where I found my family watching the weather. Lo and behold, there on the radar was a rotating tornadic cell. Just east of our home. It was one of 7 or 8 cells on the screen.
When those sirens were going off, there really was a tornado rotation over my head. It just never touched down.
Now, I have to throw in an interesting thing about my city news people. When tornadoes hit, the weather guys rush out to be right at the scene of disaster. And after the storm began to fall apart, reports of the destruction started coming in.
According to one meteorologist, some neighborhood had put their trash out before the storm hit. It wasn't a trailer park, but Mother Nature couldn't resist. Yes, a little baby tornado touched down and ripped open bags of trash all down the street. *giggle*
Thursday, March 16, 2006
What A Morning!
.
Today is report card day, so L has a half day of school. The plan was to drop him off, drive to Borders with my knitting, knit and drink coffee for 3 1/2 hours, then retrieve my son. I was out of bed early. We were out of the house somewhat early.
And I had a flat tire.
So I rushed into the house, woke the hubby-man, called the school on my cell phone, saw L off with Dad, drove to 7-11 to pay 50 cents to air up the tire, and drove to I-55 Phillips to get the tire fixed.
Fifteen minutes and fifteen dollars later, I grabbed the cell phone to tell the hubby-man about the sheet-metal screw that was imbedded in the tire; only to discover that I was still on the phone with CBC.
I hadn't hung up. And their voice mail system didn't hang up either. Poor Liz now has 45 minutes of The Sounds From Inside My Purse on her voicemail.
*giggle*
Including such high points as "the credit or debit? conversation" and "What the heck caused the flat?"
There's probably some cussing from the mechanic over my stick shift truck and how my seat is too far forward for his long legs.
I wish I could hear that. :)
*UPDATE*
The hubby-man, King of all things trafficky; got L to school on time!
.
Today is report card day, so L has a half day of school. The plan was to drop him off, drive to Borders with my knitting, knit and drink coffee for 3 1/2 hours, then retrieve my son. I was out of bed early. We were out of the house somewhat early.
And I had a flat tire.
So I rushed into the house, woke the hubby-man, called the school on my cell phone, saw L off with Dad, drove to 7-11 to pay 50 cents to air up the tire, and drove to I-55 Phillips to get the tire fixed.
Fifteen minutes and fifteen dollars later, I grabbed the cell phone to tell the hubby-man about the sheet-metal screw that was imbedded in the tire; only to discover that I was still on the phone with CBC.
I hadn't hung up. And their voice mail system didn't hang up either. Poor Liz now has 45 minutes of The Sounds From Inside My Purse on her voicemail.
*giggle*
Including such high points as "the credit or debit? conversation" and "What the heck caused the flat?"
There's probably some cussing from the mechanic over my stick shift truck and how my seat is too far forward for his long legs.
I wish I could hear that. :)
*UPDATE*
The hubby-man, King of all things trafficky; got L to school on time!
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Waaaah!
This morning, the Hubby-Man was rubbing a spot on the truck. I looked over and saw a foot long scratch on my paint. I was shocked. How could there be a massive scratch that I didn't know about? How can somebody drag that much paint off of another person's property and even bother to leave an apology? What the fuck is wrong with people?!?
It's way up high, too. It must have been another truck or an SUV. I should be pissed, but I'm mostly sad. I try to keep my truck nice looking. :(
Well, at least it's not a dent.
This morning, the Hubby-Man was rubbing a spot on the truck. I looked over and saw a foot long scratch on my paint. I was shocked. How could there be a massive scratch that I didn't know about? How can somebody drag that much paint off of another person's property and even bother to leave an apology? What the fuck is wrong with people?!?
It's way up high, too. It must have been another truck or an SUV. I should be pissed, but I'm mostly sad. I try to keep my truck nice looking. :(
Well, at least it's not a dent.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Taking My Lumps
I tried the photoserver that Chasmyn and Persephone use, and couldn't figure out how to format it correctly. Bah. So now I'm going to try the other one Persephone suggested.
On to the actual post...
Bad things tend to hit me in lumps, whereas good things tend to be spread pretty evenly. That's a good thing, of course. That way life is never all bad. So here's what's going on...
We went to Dragonfest, which was great; but now we have -$15 in our bank account. We're behind on the gas bill, and the phone bill. We have bits and scraps of food in the house and another week until Hubby-Man gets paid. I just want to cry.
The Universe always provides, however; Sarah (co-owner of Home Krafts) bought outright all the shea butter products that I had left her on consignment. Woo! The check is in the mail. (I hope)
School has begun, which is great. L was offered the opportunity to take a semester of German at the high school. He is one of only 4 or 5 kids being given the opportunity. His first class is today. A semester of a foreign language is going to look great on his application for CBC. It costs $120, which we don't have, but we can make payments -and we will.
L had a growth spurt over the Summer, so the shoes I bought last April don't fit anymore. He had to wear them anyway on the first day of school; and again, I just wanted to cry. New shoes went on -you guessed it- the credit card. I remember having to wear too-small shoes, and I swore my son would never have to. Buck makes almost $45,000 a year, and we can't buy shoes because we went on vacation for the first time in four years??? Christ! (To be fair, it's our own damn fault. I should have gone to the grocery store when we got home from vacation, and instead I bought fast food or ordered pizza every night. My bad, and now I'm paying for it)
We had some extra school supplies, so I only had to buy another $23 worth of pens, pencils, etc. Went on the credit card.
I cashed in the change jar so L could have lunch, and Ramens were on sale (9 for a dollar) so we won't starve or anything. Hubby-Man is taking his lunch until payday, so that helps too. We have some bags of aluminum cans, but I was hoping to save those for Christmas money.
I know we're far better off than a lot of people. Heck, I only need to look at my own childhood to know that. Money is tight and we have a bank account, we have a change jar, we have aluminum cans; and beyond that, we have many things that we could sell if we really need to. I have an assortment of gemstones, gold, silver, and jewelers tools. It would hurt to part with them, but really... it's only stuff. (Oh, but it's MY stuff. The dragon in me doesn't want to let go)
And then there's the big money option. We could put L in aftercare and I could get a 9-5 job. I don't have any office skills, but I could assemble boxes or something. I love being a stay-home-mom. I really love it. Thinking of selling my jewelers tools hurts, but thinking of not being there to pick L up from school is a whole different kind of pain.
Hubby-Man doesn't want me to have to work. L doesn't want me to get a job, either. They love the luxury of having me all to themselves. And I have to say, I love it too.
Well. That's enough of me and my pity-pot. I think I just needed to get it all off my chest. Thanks for listening.
P.S. I have a new animal sighting to add to the list of critters in my neighborhood. Today I saw a weasel! It looks remarkably like a ferret,(which is a weasel, I know) only it's solid brown. Neat huh? So now I've seen kites, falcons, hawks, eagles, owls, bats, skunks, foxes, a turkey, a deer, a groundhog and sundry birds. I love living in the city.
I tried the photoserver that Chasmyn and Persephone use, and couldn't figure out how to format it correctly. Bah. So now I'm going to try the other one Persephone suggested.
On to the actual post...
Bad things tend to hit me in lumps, whereas good things tend to be spread pretty evenly. That's a good thing, of course. That way life is never all bad. So here's what's going on...
We went to Dragonfest, which was great; but now we have -$15 in our bank account. We're behind on the gas bill, and the phone bill. We have bits and scraps of food in the house and another week until Hubby-Man gets paid. I just want to cry.
The Universe always provides, however; Sarah (co-owner of Home Krafts) bought outright all the shea butter products that I had left her on consignment. Woo! The check is in the mail. (I hope)
School has begun, which is great. L was offered the opportunity to take a semester of German at the high school. He is one of only 4 or 5 kids being given the opportunity. His first class is today. A semester of a foreign language is going to look great on his application for CBC. It costs $120, which we don't have, but we can make payments -and we will.
L had a growth spurt over the Summer, so the shoes I bought last April don't fit anymore. He had to wear them anyway on the first day of school; and again, I just wanted to cry. New shoes went on -you guessed it- the credit card. I remember having to wear too-small shoes, and I swore my son would never have to. Buck makes almost $45,000 a year, and we can't buy shoes because we went on vacation for the first time in four years??? Christ! (To be fair, it's our own damn fault. I should have gone to the grocery store when we got home from vacation, and instead I bought fast food or ordered pizza every night. My bad, and now I'm paying for it)
We had some extra school supplies, so I only had to buy another $23 worth of pens, pencils, etc. Went on the credit card.
I cashed in the change jar so L could have lunch, and Ramens were on sale (9 for a dollar) so we won't starve or anything. Hubby-Man is taking his lunch until payday, so that helps too. We have some bags of aluminum cans, but I was hoping to save those for Christmas money.
I know we're far better off than a lot of people. Heck, I only need to look at my own childhood to know that. Money is tight and we have a bank account, we have a change jar, we have aluminum cans; and beyond that, we have many things that we could sell if we really need to. I have an assortment of gemstones, gold, silver, and jewelers tools. It would hurt to part with them, but really... it's only stuff. (Oh, but it's MY stuff. The dragon in me doesn't want to let go)
And then there's the big money option. We could put L in aftercare and I could get a 9-5 job. I don't have any office skills, but I could assemble boxes or something. I love being a stay-home-mom. I really love it. Thinking of selling my jewelers tools hurts, but thinking of not being there to pick L up from school is a whole different kind of pain.
Hubby-Man doesn't want me to have to work. L doesn't want me to get a job, either. They love the luxury of having me all to themselves. And I have to say, I love it too.
Well. That's enough of me and my pity-pot. I think I just needed to get it all off my chest. Thanks for listening.
P.S. I have a new animal sighting to add to the list of critters in my neighborhood. Today I saw a weasel! It looks remarkably like a ferret,(which is a weasel, I know) only it's solid brown. Neat huh? So now I've seen kites, falcons, hawks, eagles, owls, bats, skunks, foxes, a turkey, a deer, a groundhog and sundry birds. I love living in the city.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
The Good Thing About Getting Up Early
I got to see the beginning of the sunrise, and I got to see my son actually hurry for once. You see, I have the hall clock set 10 minutes fast. So when the clock read 5:35, he grabbed his bookbag and was out the door before I'd even gotten my jacket on. I knew we had plenty of time, but he had forgotten the clock was fast. He was determined to be on time for this field trip. His class is reading Tom Sawyer, and today they're going to Hannibal, Mo. I went there when I was about his age, and I loved it. The town is absolutely beautiful, and the views of the river are spectacular. There was virtually no traffic. The sky was beautiful.
And now for the sucky parts. I had to get up at 5 in the morning! I didn't fall asleep 'til almost 2 because the hubby man was restless. I love him, but sometimes I hate his body for keeping me awake. Anyway... Last night, we couldn't find the shirt L wanted to wear. I knew it was clean. I remembered washing it and handing it to him, and he hadn't worn it yet, so I knew it was clean. We just couldn't find it. So I washed his other favorite shirts while he slept. This morning, he tells me that the shirts I'd picked were too big, or otherwise unsuitable. (sigh) So I dug under his bed and pulled out the clean, but wrinkled black t-shirt with a white dragon on it. That was the shirt he'd wanted to wear. I bought it at the Pagan Picnic last June from a local artist.
We had to be at the school by 5:45 so the class could attend mass before the trip. That's just not right. I get to pick him up at 6:30, or whenever the bus arrives afterward. Looks like I'll be taping Survivor.
I'm going back to bed.
I got to see the beginning of the sunrise, and I got to see my son actually hurry for once. You see, I have the hall clock set 10 minutes fast. So when the clock read 5:35, he grabbed his bookbag and was out the door before I'd even gotten my jacket on. I knew we had plenty of time, but he had forgotten the clock was fast. He was determined to be on time for this field trip. His class is reading Tom Sawyer, and today they're going to Hannibal, Mo. I went there when I was about his age, and I loved it. The town is absolutely beautiful, and the views of the river are spectacular. There was virtually no traffic. The sky was beautiful.
And now for the sucky parts. I had to get up at 5 in the morning! I didn't fall asleep 'til almost 2 because the hubby man was restless. I love him, but sometimes I hate his body for keeping me awake. Anyway... Last night, we couldn't find the shirt L wanted to wear. I knew it was clean. I remembered washing it and handing it to him, and he hadn't worn it yet, so I knew it was clean. We just couldn't find it. So I washed his other favorite shirts while he slept. This morning, he tells me that the shirts I'd picked were too big, or otherwise unsuitable. (sigh) So I dug under his bed and pulled out the clean, but wrinkled black t-shirt with a white dragon on it. That was the shirt he'd wanted to wear. I bought it at the Pagan Picnic last June from a local artist.
We had to be at the school by 5:45 so the class could attend mass before the trip. That's just not right. I get to pick him up at 6:30, or whenever the bus arrives afterward. Looks like I'll be taping Survivor.
I'm going back to bed.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
Public Restroom Etiquette
The Squeaky Weasel started it. Her hubby added to it. I'd like to see this make the rounds, so I can read everyone's varying views on Bathroom Etiquette. Think of it as an educational experience.
Quote from the Weasel: "I am regularly offended by people's behavior in the restrooms here at work, and it occurs to me that perhaps (and I'll give them the benefit of the doubt) they are entirely ignorant of the psychological havoc they wreak. Allow me to elucidate. "
In addition to her suggestions, I have a few of my own.
1. There are a few things that should only be done in a private bathroom. If you absolutely must pop your zits, or swab the sweat from beneath your breasts while looking in the mirror; have the courtesey to wait until the restroom is empty. (Yes, I spend a lot of time at Busch Stadium)
2. Understand that we are all in a hurry to do our business and move on. We do not want to be held up by a group of women blocking the door. If you are going to exchange photographs, recipies or advice of any kind; please do so away from the door.
3. Do not lay out your makeup across 3 sinks. Do not fill a basin with your makeup while running water in a second basin, and for Gods sakes, wipe up the water you've splashed all over the counter. Does your bathroom at home look like this?
4. I agree with the Squeaky Weasel on the courtesey flush. Please, please don't flee from the stall as if your waste is going to get you -without even flushing once. I've noticed that the non-flushers are the same ones who refuse to wash their hands. They exit the stall and dash from the bathroom with their hands held up like they've just scrubbed for surgery. They do everything with their elbows, as if afraid to encounter other people's germs. They make such a big production of themselves, that their fleeing form fixes itself in your mind. Thanks for making sure I noticed you, ya dweeb.
One more thing. When I worked at the coffee house, one of my end of the night chores was to clean the bathrooms. There is a distinct difference between the ladies and mens rooms. The ladies room reeks of an assortment of perfumes, there are a scattering of paper towels around the trash can, and there is always foundation smeared on the sink.
The mens room smells like a litter box, the trashcan is virtually empty (no paper towels for me, thanks. I'm a MAN) and there is always urine on the floor and walls.
I like to think their aim is skewed because they're jittery from espresso.
The Squeaky Weasel started it. Her hubby added to it. I'd like to see this make the rounds, so I can read everyone's varying views on Bathroom Etiquette. Think of it as an educational experience.
Quote from the Weasel: "I am regularly offended by people's behavior in the restrooms here at work, and it occurs to me that perhaps (and I'll give them the benefit of the doubt) they are entirely ignorant of the psychological havoc they wreak. Allow me to elucidate. "
In addition to her suggestions, I have a few of my own.
1. There are a few things that should only be done in a private bathroom. If you absolutely must pop your zits, or swab the sweat from beneath your breasts while looking in the mirror; have the courtesey to wait until the restroom is empty. (Yes, I spend a lot of time at Busch Stadium)
2. Understand that we are all in a hurry to do our business and move on. We do not want to be held up by a group of women blocking the door. If you are going to exchange photographs, recipies or advice of any kind; please do so away from the door.
3. Do not lay out your makeup across 3 sinks. Do not fill a basin with your makeup while running water in a second basin, and for Gods sakes, wipe up the water you've splashed all over the counter. Does your bathroom at home look like this?
4. I agree with the Squeaky Weasel on the courtesey flush. Please, please don't flee from the stall as if your waste is going to get you -without even flushing once. I've noticed that the non-flushers are the same ones who refuse to wash their hands. They exit the stall and dash from the bathroom with their hands held up like they've just scrubbed for surgery. They do everything with their elbows, as if afraid to encounter other people's germs. They make such a big production of themselves, that their fleeing form fixes itself in your mind. Thanks for making sure I noticed you, ya dweeb.
One more thing. When I worked at the coffee house, one of my end of the night chores was to clean the bathrooms. There is a distinct difference between the ladies and mens rooms. The ladies room reeks of an assortment of perfumes, there are a scattering of paper towels around the trash can, and there is always foundation smeared on the sink.
The mens room smells like a litter box, the trashcan is virtually empty (no paper towels for me, thanks. I'm a MAN) and there is always urine on the floor and walls.
I like to think their aim is skewed because they're jittery from espresso.
Monday, March 15, 2004
Monday, Monday
What a day! You would think, since I sit at home doing nothing while L is at school, that I would be bored or something. Not so! This morning I dragged myself from a nice little dream about my old neighborhood; got dressed; woke L; schlepped downstairs to the dryer; got L's uniform; schlepped back up the stairs while running his belt through the belt loops of his uniform pants; traversed the clutter of toys in his bedroom, twice; signed all manner of paperwork for the school; briefly thought about coffee; drove L to school without murdering any of the legion of elderly drivers who were on the road with me; mastered the drive home -by thinking of coffee; made coffee; and kissed the Hubby-Man on his way to work.
Total elapsed time: 1 hour.
The next hour was spent removing fat from the organic beef ribs that I'd put in the crock pot last night, catching up on the news with CNN, reading e-mail, and drinking coffee.
Then I took a break. I played Roller Coaster Tycoon 2 for an hour or so. Just as I was thinking, "It's about time for the phone to start ringing..." The phone rang.
While on the phone, I made a batch of comfrey and shea butter, seasoned the now low-fat beef, took out the trash, polished some wood, and did a few dishes. I also paid the satellite bill, and tried to pay the credit cards online. No luck there; I can't remember the damn passwords. (sigh) So I got off the phone with my friend and called the credit card companies. They can't help, because Hubby's name is first on the cards. Which is only reasonable, seeing as how he's the one with a paycheck and all. So I called Hubby to ask him to remind me to remind him to call the credit card companies.
Now I'm taking some time to blog and have a cup O coffee. When I'm done I plan on taking a shower, doing a few more dishes, and clean some jewelry; before heading off to get L from school.
Don't tell me stay-home moms do nothing all day. I drink coffee all day, dammit!
What a day! You would think, since I sit at home doing nothing while L is at school, that I would be bored or something. Not so! This morning I dragged myself from a nice little dream about my old neighborhood; got dressed; woke L; schlepped downstairs to the dryer; got L's uniform; schlepped back up the stairs while running his belt through the belt loops of his uniform pants; traversed the clutter of toys in his bedroom, twice; signed all manner of paperwork for the school; briefly thought about coffee; drove L to school without murdering any of the legion of elderly drivers who were on the road with me; mastered the drive home -by thinking of coffee; made coffee; and kissed the Hubby-Man on his way to work.
Total elapsed time: 1 hour.
The next hour was spent removing fat from the organic beef ribs that I'd put in the crock pot last night, catching up on the news with CNN, reading e-mail, and drinking coffee.
Then I took a break. I played Roller Coaster Tycoon 2 for an hour or so. Just as I was thinking, "It's about time for the phone to start ringing..." The phone rang.
While on the phone, I made a batch of comfrey and shea butter, seasoned the now low-fat beef, took out the trash, polished some wood, and did a few dishes. I also paid the satellite bill, and tried to pay the credit cards online. No luck there; I can't remember the damn passwords. (sigh) So I got off the phone with my friend and called the credit card companies. They can't help, because Hubby's name is first on the cards. Which is only reasonable, seeing as how he's the one with a paycheck and all. So I called Hubby to ask him to remind me to remind him to call the credit card companies.
Now I'm taking some time to blog and have a cup O coffee. When I'm done I plan on taking a shower, doing a few more dishes, and clean some jewelry; before heading off to get L from school.
Don't tell me stay-home moms do nothing all day. I drink coffee all day, dammit!
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
I love this time of year
Yesterday, as I walked to the truck to get my son from school; I spotted a robin. "That's it", I thought, "Winter's over." We could get more snow. We could even get more ice, but the presence of robins means no more hard freezes.
The sparrows think so too. Today they were singing out their territory calls. "I'm here! Girls,girls,girls,girls, I'm here!" Soon the jays will be fighting for the best trees. The cardinals will stake out turf near the bird feeders; so as to get the best sunflower seeds. The neighborhood will be filled with splashes of color. In a month or so, the birds of prey will figure out that there's an abundance of food here; and I'll get to see the hawks and falcons.
The first year we lived here, I got to see bats up close. I also met the groundhog that lives under the porch 2 doors down. The next year I saw a turkey, bald eagles and a skunk. Can you believe I live in a city? I wonder what new critters I'll see this year.
Yesterday, as I walked to the truck to get my son from school; I spotted a robin. "That's it", I thought, "Winter's over." We could get more snow. We could even get more ice, but the presence of robins means no more hard freezes.
The sparrows think so too. Today they were singing out their territory calls. "I'm here! Girls,girls,girls,girls, I'm here!" Soon the jays will be fighting for the best trees. The cardinals will stake out turf near the bird feeders; so as to get the best sunflower seeds. The neighborhood will be filled with splashes of color. In a month or so, the birds of prey will figure out that there's an abundance of food here; and I'll get to see the hawks and falcons.
The first year we lived here, I got to see bats up close. I also met the groundhog that lives under the porch 2 doors down. The next year I saw a turkey, bald eagles and a skunk. Can you believe I live in a city? I wonder what new critters I'll see this year.
Friday, January 30, 2004
Science and Friction
So it's cold and icy here in St. Louis. The main streets are perfectly clear, but the side streets... oh my. Dropping L off at school involves a side street. For the past few days, I've kept the truck in 4 wheel drive. (thank the Gods for 4wd) But today, I assumed I wouldn't be needing it. I haven't needed it except to get down the alley to my parking spot. So I'm driving down the side street, having already dropped off my son, and I see before me a big patch of ice. The ice wasn't there yesterday. I thought, "Where did that ice come from." Then I thought, "It's only on one side of the road. I'm not in 4wd. Is the drive wheel on the left or right side?" Just about then, I started to slide.
Have you ever noticed how time slows down when stuff like this happens? I always seem to have plenty of time to think.
The truck slid gracefully down the street, angled slightly toward the parked cars on the left hand side. I noted the grey station wagon that my bumper was going to make a nice dent in. Mathematically, I was heading straight for it. Foot on the brake, knowing I had no control, I wondered why the anti-lock brakes weren't pumping. I sent out the thought, "Goddess, please let me miss the station wagon." And the truck shifted, ever so slightly. I cruised past the station wagon, went right through the stop sign, and gained traction in the middle of the street. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw the SUV behind me just beginning the dance I'd just gone through. So I put the truck in gear (I drive a stick shift, and I had put it in neutral right before the slide), popped into 4wd, drove across the street, and up onto the sidewalk.
Again, thank the Gods for 4wd.
The SUV also missed the station wagon. It fishtailed a little, corrected, and slid out into the street. It was neat to see the experience play out on the face of the mom behind me. Startled, determined, relieved (when I drove onto the sidewalk), and finally aggravated. I understood completely. The aggravation was from the bitch in the red car who was gesticulating wildly at the two of us. How dare we obstruct her passage by sliding in front of her!
People are funny.
So it's cold and icy here in St. Louis. The main streets are perfectly clear, but the side streets... oh my. Dropping L off at school involves a side street. For the past few days, I've kept the truck in 4 wheel drive. (thank the Gods for 4wd) But today, I assumed I wouldn't be needing it. I haven't needed it except to get down the alley to my parking spot. So I'm driving down the side street, having already dropped off my son, and I see before me a big patch of ice. The ice wasn't there yesterday. I thought, "Where did that ice come from." Then I thought, "It's only on one side of the road. I'm not in 4wd. Is the drive wheel on the left or right side?" Just about then, I started to slide.
Have you ever noticed how time slows down when stuff like this happens? I always seem to have plenty of time to think.
The truck slid gracefully down the street, angled slightly toward the parked cars on the left hand side. I noted the grey station wagon that my bumper was going to make a nice dent in. Mathematically, I was heading straight for it. Foot on the brake, knowing I had no control, I wondered why the anti-lock brakes weren't pumping. I sent out the thought, "Goddess, please let me miss the station wagon." And the truck shifted, ever so slightly. I cruised past the station wagon, went right through the stop sign, and gained traction in the middle of the street. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw the SUV behind me just beginning the dance I'd just gone through. So I put the truck in gear (I drive a stick shift, and I had put it in neutral right before the slide), popped into 4wd, drove across the street, and up onto the sidewalk.
Again, thank the Gods for 4wd.
The SUV also missed the station wagon. It fishtailed a little, corrected, and slid out into the street. It was neat to see the experience play out on the face of the mom behind me. Startled, determined, relieved (when I drove onto the sidewalk), and finally aggravated. I understood completely. The aggravation was from the bitch in the red car who was gesticulating wildly at the two of us. How dare we obstruct her passage by sliding in front of her!
People are funny.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Ok. Bush sucks, Persephone is ill and Chasmyn lost power last night. It was down all over her section of the city. It's back now. Hail Eris!
Road Trip
I had forgotten how much fun a road trip could be. Those simple, one-day jaunts of my adolescence seemed so far behind me. I'm a grown-up now, I live by the clock (snicker), I can't be wasting time driving to nowhere, right? Oh, so wrong!
Chasmyn got a call from a rancher who raises organic cattle, they were culling the herd again; would she like to buy a side of beef? You bet she would! Lots of people got on the beef-buying bandwagon this time around. My family tossed in $100.
The next 2 weeks were torture for me. It pains me to buy meat from the grocery store when I know the good stuff is just around the corner.
Yesterday was the perfect day to pick up our processed half-cow. It was nice and cold all day, so the meat wouldn't thaw during the trip. The processing plant is in Perryville. I'd never even heard of Perryville before. It's way down highway 55. I was picturing a tiny town of 1,000 people, pick-up trucks with gun racks, maybe even a little red schoolhouse. "This should be quite an adventure in people watching!" I thought.
Chasmyn picked me up before 9:00, and we were off. The 20+ miles from my house to Arnold went by in an eyeblink. I had forgotten how easy travel is when you have company. We chatted about everything and nothing, drinking coffee while traveling a nearly empty highway. This was my first road trip with Chasmyn. (How could we have known each other for so long, and never road-tripped together?) I learned a lot from riding with her. As usual, I pointed out wildlife along the way. Some things never change. Every time I spotted something, Chasmyn saw it too. I marveled at that.
Most long trips for me go like this, "Look, a hawk! Oh. You missed it. Look, a cow! Oh, you missed it. Bunnies! You missed them." etc. With Chasmyn, I'd say "hawk!" and she'd say, "I see it!" It was fun! So we whiled away the miles, doing all the neat road trip stuff. We visited a rest stop to stare at the map. The bathroom had auto-flush toilets and an
automatic sink. Whoa! All you had to do was soap up, the sink did the rest. It rinsed your hands with warm water, and dried them too. (warm water in a Missouri rest stop???) I felt like I'd stepped into a science-fiction novel.
We finally get to Perryville, which had neither gun racks, nor a little red schoolhouse. It had a Wal-Mart instead. It also had a new looking community center, a beautiful retirement community and a welcoming feel. When I think rural - I think Carbondale. This place was as far from Carbondale as could be. The last of my reservations with Chasmyn moving to rural Minnesota vanished in Perryville. If most of rural America is like Perryville, move me there!
The processing plant was outside of town, and it wasn't what I'd expected either. It reeked, yes; but the place was nice. I had expected a gore-splattered butcher and a bunch of frightened animals, or a tiny little shack as a front for the meat that was discreetly murdered elsewhere. What we found was a pleasant small business and a nice guy in tight jeans. I mean 1980's tight jeans. I wondered if he had plans for reproducing, because his nuts sure weren't making viable sperm in those Levi's. The funny thing is, I didn't notice a thing until he turned around. My ever observant eyes spotted the worn mark of a chew canister on the right pocket. The left pocket was not as worn as the right, but both sides would eventually match. The left pocket now held the chew. It's amazing, the things you can tell from looking at a man's backside. I could tell that he never carried a wallet there, but he'd only just recently switched chew-holding sides. From the way he walked, he was comfortable with the canister in either pocket. Nice butt, by the way. I would have been all over him in the 80's. (Ooh, I just had a thought. I've been assuming it was chew... it could have been a round tin of mints, or even hand balm. Gasp! Assumptions are bad things)
Anyway, He loaded 300 lbs of meat into the trunk for us and my, what a wonderful sight that was! Mmmm, meat. He asked if we wanted the heart, liver or tongue. Chasmyn and I both paused, lost in our own thoughts. I don't know what she was thinking, but I was weighing waste vs. getting my family to eat unusual cow bits. I decided, yes, I did want the tongue and heart. Chasmyn took the liver, somebody might want it. I've never had tongue before. The Joy Of Cooking tells how to prepare it, so I'm gonna cook it up and take it to Grandma. Kudos to Chasmyn for the idea!
On the way back to St. Louis, I saw the strangest (for me) sight. I'd been looking at wildlife in the fields we passed, and I saw a cat! In the next field I saw another cat! It's not that I didn't think cats lived on farms, I've just never seen one in a field before.
So there it is. My adventure in Perryville; complete with tight jeans, kitty cats and cow tongue.
Road Trip
I had forgotten how much fun a road trip could be. Those simple, one-day jaunts of my adolescence seemed so far behind me. I'm a grown-up now, I live by the clock (snicker), I can't be wasting time driving to nowhere, right? Oh, so wrong!
Chasmyn got a call from a rancher who raises organic cattle, they were culling the herd again; would she like to buy a side of beef? You bet she would! Lots of people got on the beef-buying bandwagon this time around. My family tossed in $100.
The next 2 weeks were torture for me. It pains me to buy meat from the grocery store when I know the good stuff is just around the corner.
Yesterday was the perfect day to pick up our processed half-cow. It was nice and cold all day, so the meat wouldn't thaw during the trip. The processing plant is in Perryville. I'd never even heard of Perryville before. It's way down highway 55. I was picturing a tiny town of 1,000 people, pick-up trucks with gun racks, maybe even a little red schoolhouse. "This should be quite an adventure in people watching!" I thought.
Chasmyn picked me up before 9:00, and we were off. The 20+ miles from my house to Arnold went by in an eyeblink. I had forgotten how easy travel is when you have company. We chatted about everything and nothing, drinking coffee while traveling a nearly empty highway. This was my first road trip with Chasmyn. (How could we have known each other for so long, and never road-tripped together?) I learned a lot from riding with her. As usual, I pointed out wildlife along the way. Some things never change. Every time I spotted something, Chasmyn saw it too. I marveled at that.
Most long trips for me go like this, "Look, a hawk! Oh. You missed it. Look, a cow! Oh, you missed it. Bunnies! You missed them." etc. With Chasmyn, I'd say "hawk!" and she'd say, "I see it!" It was fun! So we whiled away the miles, doing all the neat road trip stuff. We visited a rest stop to stare at the map. The bathroom had auto-flush toilets and an
automatic sink. Whoa! All you had to do was soap up, the sink did the rest. It rinsed your hands with warm water, and dried them too. (warm water in a Missouri rest stop???) I felt like I'd stepped into a science-fiction novel.
We finally get to Perryville, which had neither gun racks, nor a little red schoolhouse. It had a Wal-Mart instead. It also had a new looking community center, a beautiful retirement community and a welcoming feel. When I think rural - I think Carbondale. This place was as far from Carbondale as could be. The last of my reservations with Chasmyn moving to rural Minnesota vanished in Perryville. If most of rural America is like Perryville, move me there!
The processing plant was outside of town, and it wasn't what I'd expected either. It reeked, yes; but the place was nice. I had expected a gore-splattered butcher and a bunch of frightened animals, or a tiny little shack as a front for the meat that was discreetly murdered elsewhere. What we found was a pleasant small business and a nice guy in tight jeans. I mean 1980's tight jeans. I wondered if he had plans for reproducing, because his nuts sure weren't making viable sperm in those Levi's. The funny thing is, I didn't notice a thing until he turned around. My ever observant eyes spotted the worn mark of a chew canister on the right pocket. The left pocket was not as worn as the right, but both sides would eventually match. The left pocket now held the chew. It's amazing, the things you can tell from looking at a man's backside. I could tell that he never carried a wallet there, but he'd only just recently switched chew-holding sides. From the way he walked, he was comfortable with the canister in either pocket. Nice butt, by the way. I would have been all over him in the 80's. (Ooh, I just had a thought. I've been assuming it was chew... it could have been a round tin of mints, or even hand balm. Gasp! Assumptions are bad things)
Anyway, He loaded 300 lbs of meat into the trunk for us and my, what a wonderful sight that was! Mmmm, meat. He asked if we wanted the heart, liver or tongue. Chasmyn and I both paused, lost in our own thoughts. I don't know what she was thinking, but I was weighing waste vs. getting my family to eat unusual cow bits. I decided, yes, I did want the tongue and heart. Chasmyn took the liver, somebody might want it. I've never had tongue before. The Joy Of Cooking tells how to prepare it, so I'm gonna cook it up and take it to Grandma. Kudos to Chasmyn for the idea!
On the way back to St. Louis, I saw the strangest (for me) sight. I'd been looking at wildlife in the fields we passed, and I saw a cat! In the next field I saw another cat! It's not that I didn't think cats lived on farms, I've just never seen one in a field before.
So there it is. My adventure in Perryville; complete with tight jeans, kitty cats and cow tongue.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
Neighborhood News
You may have seen it on the local news. I was busy doing things that were more fun than watching tv, and sadly missed it. However; I did not miss it this morning.
My days go like this: Get up, watch the sun rise, wake L, go out in the bitter cold to start the truck, drive son to school, yell at traffic, etc.
Today, as we drove down Michigan Avenue, we saw a disgusting sight. One whole corner of my neighborhood was cluttered up with stuff. I saw things neatly lining the curb, and first thought, "Oh dear, an eviction."
Evictions always bother me because people think the things are there for the taking. I actually once saw a little girl trying to guard her family's stuff, her parents frantically throwing things in a truck, while scavengers darted in and swiped things like the tv and end tables. It's theft, plain and simple, and I think it's made worse when people steal from someone who is now evicted. It sickens me, and I usually cry when I see an eviction.
So today I saw an eviction, but what was out there lining the corner went a full block. I saw a ton of black trash bags, boxes full of old magazines, and crap that looked like it had been salvaged from the dumpster. I saw at least 3 junky tv stands. The trash went down to the alley, and around the corner to the CCBF. That's the Carondolet Community Betterment Federation. It's run by some nuns from the Sisters of St. Joseph. They work their habits off to keep my neighborhood nice.
Ok. So I saw all this garbage and thought, "No. It couldn't be an eviction. Some elderly pack-rat must have died, and the landlord threw all the stuff out... I hope it's a trash day, because the CCBF is gonna have fits over this mess."
See how I turned it into a nice, comfortable story? I felt really bad for the imaginary pack-rat who had perhaps died from the cold in his or her sleep. It was a sad, uncomfortable thought; but slightly better than thinking about eviction. Then I came up with an even better thought. Maybe all the apartments were vacant, and the landlord was fixing the place up. That would certainly account for the impossible amount of trash lining the curb. Yes. That had to be it.
I drove L to school, ran some errands, and came home around 10:30. The junk was still out there. When I went to get L from school, it was still out there. When we came home maybe half an hour later, it was gone. Not one scrap was left. It looked like the sidewalk had been swept, it was so clean. I felt a surge of pride for having the CCBF taking care of my neighborhood.
Mom called at 5:00. The mess was at the top of the news. (shows how exciting St. Louis is, doesn't it?) What happened was one person was $4000 behind on his/her rent, and got evicted. It was a 20 year accumulation of stuff. The scavengers had already been there and gone by the time I drove my son to school. The city showed up with, I'm not kidding you, a front loader and several dump trucks. They loaded up all the junk and took it away. The media had a field day videotaping it. Now they're raising a ruckus about how terrible it was that this person's possessions were unceremoniously carted away to the dump. What were they supposed to do with it? Should the police have guarded the trash bags and boxes until the evictee could move it all? The news people think so.
I didn't catch the news, only the commercials, but they made it sound like a lawsuit was already in the works.
I saw what was out there. It was trash.
You may have seen it on the local news. I was busy doing things that were more fun than watching tv, and sadly missed it. However; I did not miss it this morning.
My days go like this: Get up, watch the sun rise, wake L, go out in the bitter cold to start the truck, drive son to school, yell at traffic, etc.
Today, as we drove down Michigan Avenue, we saw a disgusting sight. One whole corner of my neighborhood was cluttered up with stuff. I saw things neatly lining the curb, and first thought, "Oh dear, an eviction."
Evictions always bother me because people think the things are there for the taking. I actually once saw a little girl trying to guard her family's stuff, her parents frantically throwing things in a truck, while scavengers darted in and swiped things like the tv and end tables. It's theft, plain and simple, and I think it's made worse when people steal from someone who is now evicted. It sickens me, and I usually cry when I see an eviction.
So today I saw an eviction, but what was out there lining the corner went a full block. I saw a ton of black trash bags, boxes full of old magazines, and crap that looked like it had been salvaged from the dumpster. I saw at least 3 junky tv stands. The trash went down to the alley, and around the corner to the CCBF. That's the Carondolet Community Betterment Federation. It's run by some nuns from the Sisters of St. Joseph. They work their habits off to keep my neighborhood nice.
Ok. So I saw all this garbage and thought, "No. It couldn't be an eviction. Some elderly pack-rat must have died, and the landlord threw all the stuff out... I hope it's a trash day, because the CCBF is gonna have fits over this mess."
See how I turned it into a nice, comfortable story? I felt really bad for the imaginary pack-rat who had perhaps died from the cold in his or her sleep. It was a sad, uncomfortable thought; but slightly better than thinking about eviction. Then I came up with an even better thought. Maybe all the apartments were vacant, and the landlord was fixing the place up. That would certainly account for the impossible amount of trash lining the curb. Yes. That had to be it.
I drove L to school, ran some errands, and came home around 10:30. The junk was still out there. When I went to get L from school, it was still out there. When we came home maybe half an hour later, it was gone. Not one scrap was left. It looked like the sidewalk had been swept, it was so clean. I felt a surge of pride for having the CCBF taking care of my neighborhood.
Mom called at 5:00. The mess was at the top of the news. (shows how exciting St. Louis is, doesn't it?) What happened was one person was $4000 behind on his/her rent, and got evicted. It was a 20 year accumulation of stuff. The scavengers had already been there and gone by the time I drove my son to school. The city showed up with, I'm not kidding you, a front loader and several dump trucks. They loaded up all the junk and took it away. The media had a field day videotaping it. Now they're raising a ruckus about how terrible it was that this person's possessions were unceremoniously carted away to the dump. What were they supposed to do with it? Should the police have guarded the trash bags and boxes until the evictee could move it all? The news people think so.
I didn't catch the news, only the commercials, but they made it sound like a lawsuit was already in the works.
I saw what was out there. It was trash.
Sunday, January 04, 2004
Duh..mbass
Some spark of clarity had me type "stories from my past" into google. Voila! All the stuff I was looking for yesterday. See, I search weird. I actually thought "autobiographical blog" would find well, a shitload of autobiographical blogs. Yeah.
One autobiographical blog, found under "stories from my past" tells the story of this poor guy's house catching fire, and the kindness of strangers. I'm bringing it up here because (heh) my life is still a soap opera. Interesting things happen around me. I'm lucky that I get to interact with life in neato ways.
Although Random Redhead is all about one decade, I have stories from my more recent past, too. The fire-victim-guy reminded me of my poor neighbor across the street.
This woman had problems. She moved onto our street after divorcing her abusive bum of a husband. She began dating a man who owned his own construction business. That's a polite way of saying he had a truck, a logo, and some friends. The man was a bit down on his luck, business wise; so he set his girlfriend's house on fire.
See why I live in the city? Stuff like that rarely happens in the county.
Living directly across the street from her, I noticed the smoke. The fire truck pulled up as I was grabbing the phone to call 911. It's nice to have a fire station a few blocks away. The firefighters did their job and drove away. Us neighbors polled each other for C's work number. Nobody had it. Nobody even knew where she worked.
I spent several hours fretting over my neighbor coming home and finding half her house gone. It just wasn't right. Somebody should tell her, and no one knew where to find her.
Around 2 in the afternoon, a Red Cross van pulled up outside her house. "How nice," I thought. I didn't know the red cross showed up for a simple house fire. I felt reassured. They would know how to council C far better than I would.
I waited. The red cross waited. C was working late. It was cold outside, and that van had been sitting there for hours. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I made a huge thermos of hot chocolate, grabbed some coffee cups and went out to the van.
The red cross comes prepared. They already had warm drinks, and everything else they needed. They were used to waiting. I was still standing by the van with my small offering of cocoa, when C finally came home.
I didn't know what to do, so I poured a cup for her and her daughter. The red cross people looked at me like I was a particularly smelly pile of dung, and I realized I'd committed yet another faux pas.
In hindsight, I think C was glad I was there. She hugged me, cried all over me, and didn't spill a single drop of the hot chocolate. She took me on a tour of her burned home, and we agreed the damage wasn't too bad. (the smell, on the other hand was awful) She didn't let the red cross help her until after she had walked through her house, drank some cocoa, used my phone and toured her house a second time. Only then was she able to acknowledge the presence of a charity.
I hope the red cross is used to that too.
Some spark of clarity had me type "stories from my past" into google. Voila! All the stuff I was looking for yesterday. See, I search weird. I actually thought "autobiographical blog" would find well, a shitload of autobiographical blogs. Yeah.
One autobiographical blog, found under "stories from my past" tells the story of this poor guy's house catching fire, and the kindness of strangers. I'm bringing it up here because (heh) my life is still a soap opera. Interesting things happen around me. I'm lucky that I get to interact with life in neato ways.
Although Random Redhead is all about one decade, I have stories from my more recent past, too. The fire-victim-guy reminded me of my poor neighbor across the street.
This woman had problems. She moved onto our street after divorcing her abusive bum of a husband. She began dating a man who owned his own construction business. That's a polite way of saying he had a truck, a logo, and some friends. The man was a bit down on his luck, business wise; so he set his girlfriend's house on fire.
See why I live in the city? Stuff like that rarely happens in the county.
Living directly across the street from her, I noticed the smoke. The fire truck pulled up as I was grabbing the phone to call 911. It's nice to have a fire station a few blocks away. The firefighters did their job and drove away. Us neighbors polled each other for C's work number. Nobody had it. Nobody even knew where she worked.
I spent several hours fretting over my neighbor coming home and finding half her house gone. It just wasn't right. Somebody should tell her, and no one knew where to find her.
Around 2 in the afternoon, a Red Cross van pulled up outside her house. "How nice," I thought. I didn't know the red cross showed up for a simple house fire. I felt reassured. They would know how to council C far better than I would.
I waited. The red cross waited. C was working late. It was cold outside, and that van had been sitting there for hours. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I made a huge thermos of hot chocolate, grabbed some coffee cups and went out to the van.
The red cross comes prepared. They already had warm drinks, and everything else they needed. They were used to waiting. I was still standing by the van with my small offering of cocoa, when C finally came home.
I didn't know what to do, so I poured a cup for her and her daughter. The red cross people looked at me like I was a particularly smelly pile of dung, and I realized I'd committed yet another faux pas.
In hindsight, I think C was glad I was there. She hugged me, cried all over me, and didn't spill a single drop of the hot chocolate. She took me on a tour of her burned home, and we agreed the damage wasn't too bad. (the smell, on the other hand was awful) She didn't let the red cross help her until after she had walked through her house, drank some cocoa, used my phone and toured her house a second time. Only then was she able to acknowledge the presence of a charity.
I hope the red cross is used to that too.
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
Hoosier Girl vs. The Man in the Santa Hat
Before I describe today's people-watching, I feel the need to clue-in the non-St. Louisans. "Hoosier" means urban trailer trash; it has nothing to do with the proud residents of Indiana. "Cain't" is a mix of can't and ain't. It means cannot, do not, must not and will not. It's all the negatives rolled into one. "@#(&!%$" means the act of coitus, except with Hoosiers. Then it means, "Pay attention to me, I said a bad word."
Now that people with class can enjoy the story, onward ho!
Today I delivered soda and a secret santa gift to the sponsors of this years family gathering. I also delivered secret santa gifts to the Hubby-Man's selected person. Then I went to the grocery store to buy pudding and lunchables pizza. My keen observational skills noted the lack of available parking. Hmmm, not good. The store was exceptionally crowded. The little Scotty in my head said, "The shields won't hold, capt'n." So I staggered around the store with an awful headache. Too many people, too many thoughts, way too chaotic for my tender senses.
I snagged the goodies I'd come for and headed for the checkout.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but 18 lanes open, no waiting. What a beautiful sight. I made it through the checkout in about 30 seconds. It made my day.
I in my scarf, but not wearing a hat, had just dropped some change in the bell ringer's vat. When out in the lot there arose such a clatter, I looked toward my truck -in case it would matter.
I couldn't not notice Hoosier Girl. From her faded jeans to her red dyed hair, her whole being screamed "Hoosier". If that wasn't enough to clue you in, 2 seconds of listening to her verbal diarrhea would do the trick.
Yes, the whole time it took me to walk the Wal-Mart sized parking lot and load the goodies in my truck, I got to listen to:
You cain't hit my @#(&!%$ car! You don't hit my @#(&!%$ car. Nuh uh! You cain't hit my @#(&!%$ car!
And who was she assaulting with her poor grasp of grammar? (besides all of us normal people) A man in a Santa hat. I believe the man would have explained about the store having a telephone and calling to report the accident, if Hoosier Girl had taken a moment to breathe. I saw the man turn and walk toward her, palms up in a universal gesture of "Let's discuss this reasonably" and I noted how Hoosier Girl started walking backward, still spewing venom. She had to keep at least 20 feet between her and the man in the Santa hat, because he was black. Isn't that pathetic?
I really felt sorry for the poor guy.
Before I describe today's people-watching, I feel the need to clue-in the non-St. Louisans. "Hoosier" means urban trailer trash; it has nothing to do with the proud residents of Indiana. "Cain't" is a mix of can't and ain't. It means cannot, do not, must not and will not. It's all the negatives rolled into one. "@#(&!%$" means the act of coitus, except with Hoosiers. Then it means, "Pay attention to me, I said a bad word."
Now that people with class can enjoy the story, onward ho!
Today I delivered soda and a secret santa gift to the sponsors of this years family gathering. I also delivered secret santa gifts to the Hubby-Man's selected person. Then I went to the grocery store to buy pudding and lunchables pizza. My keen observational skills noted the lack of available parking. Hmmm, not good. The store was exceptionally crowded. The little Scotty in my head said, "The shields won't hold, capt'n." So I staggered around the store with an awful headache. Too many people, too many thoughts, way too chaotic for my tender senses.
I snagged the goodies I'd come for and headed for the checkout.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but 18 lanes open, no waiting. What a beautiful sight. I made it through the checkout in about 30 seconds. It made my day.
I in my scarf, but not wearing a hat, had just dropped some change in the bell ringer's vat. When out in the lot there arose such a clatter, I looked toward my truck -in case it would matter.
I couldn't not notice Hoosier Girl. From her faded jeans to her red dyed hair, her whole being screamed "Hoosier". If that wasn't enough to clue you in, 2 seconds of listening to her verbal diarrhea would do the trick.
Yes, the whole time it took me to walk the Wal-Mart sized parking lot and load the goodies in my truck, I got to listen to:
You cain't hit my @#(&!%$ car! You don't hit my @#(&!%$ car. Nuh uh! You cain't hit my @#(&!%$ car!
And who was she assaulting with her poor grasp of grammar? (besides all of us normal people) A man in a Santa hat. I believe the man would have explained about the store having a telephone and calling to report the accident, if Hoosier Girl had taken a moment to breathe. I saw the man turn and walk toward her, palms up in a universal gesture of "Let's discuss this reasonably" and I noted how Hoosier Girl started walking backward, still spewing venom. She had to keep at least 20 feet between her and the man in the Santa hat, because he was black. Isn't that pathetic?
I really felt sorry for the poor guy.
Friday, December 12, 2003
CBC
Our son wants to go to Christian Brothers College High School. Why would a Pagan sent their child to a Catholic high school? Two reasons:
1) St. Louis public schools suck. If you want your child to experience life-threatening danger, drugs, teachers who don't know the material they're teaching, and classes of 60-85 children, then by all means send them to a St. Louis public high school. If you want your child to have an education that's at least worth the effort of driving them to school, send them to a private or parochial school. Private schools are not within our budget.
2)CBC has service requirements. That means the students must perform volunteer services in order to get credits toward their grades. CBC has their own soup kitchen. They also have a computer lab where students can tutor adults, giving them computer skills to re-enter the workforce.
Now, why does my son want CBC in particular? Three reasons:
1) The school loves diversity
2) The campus is brand new
3) Incoming students receive a laptop as one of their school supplies
If that weren't enough, there's another reason I like CBC. Freshmen with standardized test scores of 90 or higher get a $1000 scholarship. L's standardized test score this year was 93. Last year's was 97. Woot!
We may qualify for financial aid, and with his test scores he may get a half or full scholarship. The tuition is about $10,000 a year, and we all want CBC to be L's school.
Since I'm a stay-home mom, I can get a job to cover the tuition costs.
Our son wants to go to Christian Brothers College High School. Why would a Pagan sent their child to a Catholic high school? Two reasons:
1) St. Louis public schools suck. If you want your child to experience life-threatening danger, drugs, teachers who don't know the material they're teaching, and classes of 60-85 children, then by all means send them to a St. Louis public high school. If you want your child to have an education that's at least worth the effort of driving them to school, send them to a private or parochial school. Private schools are not within our budget.
2)CBC has service requirements. That means the students must perform volunteer services in order to get credits toward their grades. CBC has their own soup kitchen. They also have a computer lab where students can tutor adults, giving them computer skills to re-enter the workforce.
Now, why does my son want CBC in particular? Three reasons:
1) The school loves diversity
2) The campus is brand new
3) Incoming students receive a laptop as one of their school supplies
If that weren't enough, there's another reason I like CBC. Freshmen with standardized test scores of 90 or higher get a $1000 scholarship. L's standardized test score this year was 93. Last year's was 97. Woot!
We may qualify for financial aid, and with his test scores he may get a half or full scholarship. The tuition is about $10,000 a year, and we all want CBC to be L's school.
Since I'm a stay-home mom, I can get a job to cover the tuition costs.
Friday, December 05, 2003
It must be one of those nights
First, I was reading The Redhead Wore Crimson. She blogged several days ago about AIDS day. She included a cute little poem. "Don't be daft, Don't be silly. Put a condom on your willie." Which reminded me of something I'll tell you about in a bit.
Next I read another blog, with a link to something titled "Puppetry of the Penis"
Of course, I had to see what the scary heck that was. Being penis related, it reminded me of something I'll tell you about in a bit.
Now I'm scared to read any of my blog links. I'm worried the Universe is trying to tell me something. (tee hee)
Now, to the thing I was going to tell you about...
The garbage truck comes on Tuesdays and Fridays. It rumbles down the alley picking up dumpsters and emptying them by turning them upside down over the opening in the top of the truck. I firmly believe it summons up a stiff breeze whenever it has ahold of a dumpster. Maybe the city invested in wind generators for their garbage trucks. It seems like the kind of thing they'd waste our money on.
Whatever the air-moving method, every Tuesday and Friday afternoon, I get to pick up trash from the yard and parking spaces. I really hate touching the old fast-food bags, plastic soda bottles and used paper towels that have blown into my yard. It's generally innocuous enough stuff, but last week I found a condom.
(sigh)
At first it was just a little condom doughnut, all neatly rolled up, but out of it's package. I spotted it while getting into the truck. We were short on time, so I decided to throw it back in the dumpster when I got home. However, when I came back, I parked on top if it and forgot all about it. A few days later, one of the children in the neighborhood unrolled it.
Right, if my son had touched a condom he had found in the alley, I would have grounded him for a week. And scoured his hands with lye soap.
So then I had to look at an unrolled condom lying on the ground like some sort of ribbed snake skin. It was disturbing. Yesterday, I muttered about having to pick the nasty thing up sooner or later; and my genius son says,"Use a stick."
Now why didn't I think of that?
The condom and the stick I picked it up with are both in the dumpster now. I hope the mystical wind generating trash truck doesn't blow it into my yard again.
First, I was reading The Redhead Wore Crimson. She blogged several days ago about AIDS day. She included a cute little poem. "Don't be daft, Don't be silly. Put a condom on your willie." Which reminded me of something I'll tell you about in a bit.
Next I read another blog, with a link to something titled "Puppetry of the Penis"
Of course, I had to see what the scary heck that was. Being penis related, it reminded me of something I'll tell you about in a bit.
Now I'm scared to read any of my blog links. I'm worried the Universe is trying to tell me something. (tee hee)
Now, to the thing I was going to tell you about...
The garbage truck comes on Tuesdays and Fridays. It rumbles down the alley picking up dumpsters and emptying them by turning them upside down over the opening in the top of the truck. I firmly believe it summons up a stiff breeze whenever it has ahold of a dumpster. Maybe the city invested in wind generators for their garbage trucks. It seems like the kind of thing they'd waste our money on.
Whatever the air-moving method, every Tuesday and Friday afternoon, I get to pick up trash from the yard and parking spaces. I really hate touching the old fast-food bags, plastic soda bottles and used paper towels that have blown into my yard. It's generally innocuous enough stuff, but last week I found a condom.
(sigh)
At first it was just a little condom doughnut, all neatly rolled up, but out of it's package. I spotted it while getting into the truck. We were short on time, so I decided to throw it back in the dumpster when I got home. However, when I came back, I parked on top if it and forgot all about it. A few days later, one of the children in the neighborhood unrolled it.
Right, if my son had touched a condom he had found in the alley, I would have grounded him for a week. And scoured his hands with lye soap.
So then I had to look at an unrolled condom lying on the ground like some sort of ribbed snake skin. It was disturbing. Yesterday, I muttered about having to pick the nasty thing up sooner or later; and my genius son says,"Use a stick."
Now why didn't I think of that?
The condom and the stick I picked it up with are both in the dumpster now. I hope the mystical wind generating trash truck doesn't blow it into my yard again.
Friday, November 28, 2003
The Post-Thanksgiving Trip To WalMart
I'd love to tell a story about fighting off hordes of middle class housewives to get to the last Nintendo Gamecube. I'd like to share how I beat them off of my cart with a display Christmas tree. I want to explain how I put the truck in 4 wheel drive and drove over the grassy knoll, because the lot was so full, people were parking in the lanes too.
Sadly, none of that happened.
I slept 'til 9 o'clock. I took time out for coffee. I stared out the window at the cold grey sky, and meditated. Then I was ready to face the mob.
I put on some (gasp) make-up. For some reason, you get noticed more easily with make-up on. Since I'm only 5'4", I need all the help I can get. Red hair not withstanding, I just don't stand out in a shopping crowd. As I was applying mascara, I called to L; asking if he wanted to come with. I was expecting an eyeball rolling "no", but he jumped at the chance. So off we went to WalMart.
On the way, I guided him in a shielding meditation. I get bad in shopping crowds, too much bitterness and desperation around me. L gets worse. He hasn't had the years of practice I've had. So I taught him the mirror shield. It's a good, basic shielding technique. You surround yourself with mirrors facing outward. When dealing with crowds, you put an extra layer of mirrors around your head.
So, shields in place, we turned into the parking lot... and saw plenty of parking. "Bonus!" I thought. We drove down by the garden entrance, pulled into a parking space, and went inside. It was a copper top kinda day, At the door, we crossed paths with a pair of redheaded twines (purposeful misspelling -pervs B gone!) and their mom, also displaying the melacortin 1 gene. I spied at least 5 other naturals. Ahhh, it's good to have company. Enough about the redhead cluster phenomenon, though. On to the shopping!
The store was crowded, but not as crowded as the day after Christmas. We rushed to the electronics department. We couldn't get down the games aisle, it was packed. But that was ok. We had Matt, the WalMart guy to do our work for us. Because we had arrived so late, they were sold out of the Game Cubes. But that was ok. Matt had noticed one, and only one, sitting in the returns cart. He fetched it for us with a smile.
That's right. My son got the last Game Cube in the store! Muahahahaha. I didn't even need to hit anyone.
From there we hit the center aisle, snagged the Lion King Platinum Edition for $11, and breezed on down to the sports department. I tossed a bow and arrow set into the cart, saying, "My cousin will love this," so that L wouldn't know it was really for him. Then we were back in the garden department. We grabbed the 6 foot fiber optic Christmas tree that L had been lusting over, and threw in some wrapping paper and tape for good measure. Every checkout lane was open, and there was no waiting.
Total shopping time: 25 minutes.
Total amount spent: $180 (the game cube wasn't the kind that was on sale, oh well.)
Buying everything on your list without killing anyone: priceless!
I'd love to tell a story about fighting off hordes of middle class housewives to get to the last Nintendo Gamecube. I'd like to share how I beat them off of my cart with a display Christmas tree. I want to explain how I put the truck in 4 wheel drive and drove over the grassy knoll, because the lot was so full, people were parking in the lanes too.
Sadly, none of that happened.
I slept 'til 9 o'clock. I took time out for coffee. I stared out the window at the cold grey sky, and meditated. Then I was ready to face the mob.
I put on some (gasp) make-up. For some reason, you get noticed more easily with make-up on. Since I'm only 5'4", I need all the help I can get. Red hair not withstanding, I just don't stand out in a shopping crowd. As I was applying mascara, I called to L; asking if he wanted to come with. I was expecting an eyeball rolling "no", but he jumped at the chance. So off we went to WalMart.
On the way, I guided him in a shielding meditation. I get bad in shopping crowds, too much bitterness and desperation around me. L gets worse. He hasn't had the years of practice I've had. So I taught him the mirror shield. It's a good, basic shielding technique. You surround yourself with mirrors facing outward. When dealing with crowds, you put an extra layer of mirrors around your head.
So, shields in place, we turned into the parking lot... and saw plenty of parking. "Bonus!" I thought. We drove down by the garden entrance, pulled into a parking space, and went inside. It was a copper top kinda day, At the door, we crossed paths with a pair of redheaded twines (purposeful misspelling -pervs B gone!) and their mom, also displaying the melacortin 1 gene. I spied at least 5 other naturals. Ahhh, it's good to have company. Enough about the redhead cluster phenomenon, though. On to the shopping!
The store was crowded, but not as crowded as the day after Christmas. We rushed to the electronics department. We couldn't get down the games aisle, it was packed. But that was ok. We had Matt, the WalMart guy to do our work for us. Because we had arrived so late, they were sold out of the Game Cubes. But that was ok. Matt had noticed one, and only one, sitting in the returns cart. He fetched it for us with a smile.
That's right. My son got the last Game Cube in the store! Muahahahaha. I didn't even need to hit anyone.
From there we hit the center aisle, snagged the Lion King Platinum Edition for $11, and breezed on down to the sports department. I tossed a bow and arrow set into the cart, saying, "My cousin will love this," so that L wouldn't know it was really for him. Then we were back in the garden department. We grabbed the 6 foot fiber optic Christmas tree that L had been lusting over, and threw in some wrapping paper and tape for good measure. Every checkout lane was open, and there was no waiting.
Total shopping time: 25 minutes.
Total amount spent: $180 (the game cube wasn't the kind that was on sale, oh well.)
Buying everything on your list without killing anyone: priceless!
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